


who is the betrayer, the killer in the crowd

by ashers_kiss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Memory Alteration, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha never lied to Steve about Odessa.  She just didn't give him the whole story.  A girl has to keep some secrets.</p><p>Or, the Odessa incident, according to me.  Because Marvel will have to pry Bucky/Natasha from my cold dead hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who is the betrayer, the killer in the crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let the tags fool you - this is the Winter Soldier. AO3 just wouldn't let me tag for him (which, what the hell?).
> 
> Basically, this is all [amine-eyes](http://amine-eyes.tumblr.com/)' fault for convincing me to go see Cap 2 a third time. (I was really, really hard to convince.) Enormous thanks to [lokkatattur](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lokkatattur/pseuds/lokkatattur) for looking it over; any remaining mistakes or characterisation issues (and there will be a few, Natasha is fucking _insanely_ difficult to write) are my own.
> 
> This - this kicked my ass, I won't lie. Like I said, Natasha turned out to be really difficult to write, so this is probaly terrible, and I don't blame you for stopping here.
> 
> (Also, I got Elaheh's name from a website, in the Iranian category. However, if I've screwed up and it isn't appropriate, please let me know. I just figured - why the hell couldn't the nuclear engineer be a woman? I could be wrong, but I don't think Natasha actually states the gender of her engineer.)
> 
> Title (which is terrible, and I'm blaming on yun for telling me she almost put this song on her Natasha mix) from [Heavy In Your Arms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_eOmvM-4zc) by Florence + the Machine.

The engineer wasn’t exactly talkative, curled up in the back seat, and Natasha couldn’t blame her, but it made for a long, quiet drive, with only Coulson’s quiet murmur in her ear every so often for company. She almost missed Clint; almost called to check in, listen to him complain about the new arrows, or what the fuck TLC thought they were doing, messing around with perfectly good shows. Part of her was starting to wish this really hadn’t been a solo run.

The sun had barely risen, washing everything out pink and soft, when she saw the speed bumps. The ones that weren’t supposed to be there.

Natasha swerved, sending the car up on two wheels and her engineer slamming awake into the door. She could hear tires squealing as her backup – baby agents, Clint had called them, and Coulson had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t disagreed – tried to follow. The engineer – Elaheh, her name was Elaheh – was whimpering, cradling her arm, probably dislocated her shoulder. Natasha didn’t have time to look for more, too busy trying to right the car – that one glance had already cost them. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” She didn’t _sound_ fine, words gritted out between her teeth, but then one of their tires blew, seconds before the rear window shattered, glass stinging and _everywhere_. Natasha cursed even as Elaheh ducked, covered her head, and now there were shots, lots of them, her baby agents desperately trying to cover them against attackers Natasha couldn’t even _see_. There was blood in her eye, and glass, the barest sliver, embedded at her eyebrow, leaving the pads of her fingers slick and sliced open when she felt for it. And Coulson, saying her name over and over, wanting to know what the _hell_ was going on.

“Got a bit of situation, boss,” she started, gunning the engine – she could drive with a flat, it was fine, bumpy, but fine, and they really needed to _not be there anymore_. “Requesting extraction.”

“Where the hell – ” There was a hiss, a crackle in her ear, and Coulson’s voice cut out, leaving Natasha to spit another curse.

Something – someone, Natasha figured at least two, maybe three shooters, hidden along the side of the road at a height, on a ledge she couldn’t make out, maybe – took out the engine, flames catching faster than would have been possible with a lucky shot – “Okay, get out, get out of the car, get out _now_ – ”

She all but fell from her seat – she’d damaged her knee, at some point, but she could still hold her damn gun, that was all that mattered – and dragged the backdoor open, catching Elaheh as she crawled out. “You stay with me,” Natasha told her, met her wide eyes and held them. They were showing far too much white, and Natasha just had to pray she could hold off panicking until the extraction. “You stay low, and you don’t move without my say.”

Elaheh nodded, pressed her briefcase tighter to her chest with her working arm. “Give me a gun.”

It wasn’t a request, and she had firearms experience, Natasha had read her file, but – but Natasha looked at her hand shaking against the leather of the case, the way her other arm hung limp, too much white in her eyes and the glass shimmering in the folds of her hijab. “Just stay low,” she repeated, and Elaheh didn’t argue.

They moved away from the shelter of the car before it blew – Natasha was amazed it hadn’t already, but it was SHIELD. Between Elaheh’s shoulder and Natasha’s knee, they weren’t exactly _fast_ , and both members of the backup were down, leaving them uncovered beyond whatever shots Natasha could get off. Which wasn’t ideal, what with her being half-blind.

The other car was a mess of bullet holes, but it was pretty much intact, she could hear the engine running. If they could just _get_ to it, the explosion from their car would be enough cover for Natasha to get them out, get hold of Coulson, get Elaheh’s shoulder set –

She never knew what made her look. Instinct, probably. That place in the pit of her stomach that always _knew_. Whatever the reason, she turned sharp, back along the road they’d driven down, shoving Elaheh further down, aiming before she was even conscious of it.

Her breath caught in her throat, because. Because of course, if they were ever going to send anyone after her, it would be him.

But they shouldn’t have been able to.

For just a moment, there was blood on her hands again, drying sticky and cracked, staining her palms, and the Commander congratulating her on doing such a good job, on protecting her country. She said thank you, like she was supposed to, told him what an honour it was to be able to serve. The words tasted like ashes in her mouth, and she remembered the grip of metal fingers, bruises digging deep into her skin. She remembered words people like them were never supposed to say. _“Please.”_

For that one moment, the world skewed and slid off its axis, leaving Natasha’s ears buzzing and her lips forming a name she’d tried not to think of in years.

She never said it. That moment was enough, more than enough; the slug tore through her gut, knocking her to her knees. Elaheh never made a sound as she fell, the hole between her eyes so absurdly out of place it almost seemed to forget to bleed. Natasha didn’t know if the noise she made was for her, or the ghost who shot them.

When she looked up – she may have blacked out, her vision was swimming, tinged with black, she’d lost so much blood already, too much adrenaline pumping it out of her – he seemed closer. He tilted his head, and she wondered, just for a moment, if he even recognised her.

Those metal fingers twitched, clenched into a fist, an answer all in itself, and Natasha breathed, ready for it to be her last. Whatever else they’d done, they hadn’t taken that. There was some kind of comfort in that. (It was fucked up, she knew, and the voice in her head sounded so much like Clint – except she couldn’t think about Clint, not now, not when her vision was sliding into darkness…)

When she came around, she was trapped by the tucked tight sheets of the Helicarrier med bay and Clint clutching her hand in both of his, her chest too tight and her head spinning, everything _hurting_ , scrabbling for breath, and Clint was saying, “Hey, hey, Tasha, it’s okay, I’ve got you – hey, look, hey, I’m right here – ” sliding in beside her, like they’d done so many times before, curling in tight to press her hand to his chest, one of his own cradling the back of her head, holding her steady. Natasha sucked in as deep a breath as her lungs would let her – she couldn’t stop shaking, didn’t know how to stop, didn’t _remember_ , she hadn’t done this in so long – and all the while Clint kept talking, low and even, forehead against hers.

By the time she got her breathing under control, her fingers had twisted themselves up in Clint’s shirt, tight enough that they ached. “I got you,” he repeated, over and over again, and Natasha didn’t let go.

The door eased open, and she didn’t need to hear the almost-silent click to know who it was. Clint’s eyes flickered up for the barest second, softening. “Hey.”

A pause, then, “The Director wants to talk to her,” Coulson said, the not-quite whisper that said he knew exactly how awake she was.

“Tell him she’s still sleeping,” and Natasha’s breath shuddered out of her, what little she had, Clint’s thumb rubbing circles behind her ear.

“All right,” Coulson said, still soft, and, “Get some rest. Both of you,” before the door opened and closed ever so carefully.

“He’s so _bossy_ ,” Clint muttered. Natasha’s laugh tangled up in her throat, came out ridiculously breathy, and she still couldn’t breathe properly and Clint was stroking her hair now, murmuring his nonsense, and she had _so much_ paperwork to fill out, mission reports and statements and orders to update the records and – 

Natasha ducked to press her face into Clint’s throat, listen to his pulse thud steady and sure next to her ear, and closed her eyes. Squeezed them tight against the blood she could still see. That had never existed.

“I got you,” Clint said again. “I’m right here, Nat. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Natasha breathed.


End file.
